Aren't Children the Best?
by Madame Lazla
Summary: Ron Weasley needs a nanny. Draco Malfoy needs to get back into society's good books. What happens next, is magic. SLOW BURN
1. Prologue

Author: Madame Lazla

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: RonxDraco (main); HermionexBlaise, HarryxGinny, NevillexPansy

Rating: R/MA

Tags: post-war; Slash; nanny!Draco; slight OOC; nice!Lucius; non-canon, slow burn; fluff; smutty sex: pet death

Disclaimer: All these characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I only own the things I make them do.

Summary: Ron Weasley needs a nanny. Draco Malfoy needs to get back into society's good books. What happens next, is magic.

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **A/N: I've hit a block with my "Dear Karma" gig. So, after bingeing on copious amounts of Dron slash, I got hit by this idea. Plus, I just really wanted to write the Malfoys as a reserved, loving family (kinda like the Addamses ^_^). Although I know the Harry Potter saga technically ends in the early 2000s (as per publishing date), please allow me to take liberties and place it in our current time 3. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

A Malfoy is not without a plan

* * *

It is on rare occasion that a Malfoy places all his eggs in one basket. To do so is simply preposterous. The world has a funny way of turning, and Fate herself can be ever so fickle. The erratic tides of Luck first made their unstable nature known to one Lucius Malfoy just over 17 years ago. A bouncy baby brat by the name of Potter took down the most powerful, most charismatic leader in history. Back then, he thought it would all end – he had placed his name, his fledgling family and a sizeable amount of time and money on the wrong side. It was only a matter of time before witches and wizards suspected of being in league with the Dark Lord would face retribution and Lucius was not ready to go to Azkaban. Within days, he had an immaculate escape route: an anonymous account at Gringotts and a furnished cottage out in Cornwall, the very end of Wizarding England. Lord spare us all, he even stooped as low as creating false documentation for an account with a Muggle bank in case the Malfoys needed to drop off the magical radar for a while. Then, he sat with his ear to the ground.

He renounced Voldemort and pleaded innocence when his time came and, thank the stars, the Neanderthals believed him. It was times like this that he actually hated people a little less than usual. And so, his safety blanket lay unneeded for now. However, he continued to siphon and transfer funds into his accounts – he would not be foolish enough to repeat the same mistake twice.

The dust settled and life continued to be as charmed for the Malfoys as ever. His relationship with Narcissa, though severely cooled, was one of stoic dedication. Draco was growing into an obedient boy that Lucius adored silently. After all, fear and respect begot love. That was how Lucius grew up, how every single Malfoy grew up. Why, if he hadn't been scared to tears of _his_ father, he wouldn't have been the man he was. Aside from the Scruffy-Little-Mudblood-Who-Lived causing his son no end of grief and disappointment, he could not have changed anything. Over time, he became cocky. Arrogant. He needn't place so much money on some boorish little shack in the middle of bloody nowhere, surely? Not with Narcissa eyeing a new necklace every fortnight. Perhaps he'd keep it to give Draco as a wedding present.

That was, until the Quidditch World Cup. When his arm flared with a pain nauseatingly familiar, he both cursed his hubris and praised his luck. For three years he prostrated himself at the Dark Lord's feet, secretly pumping as much money as he could without raising suspicions.

So, when Potter put an end to the decades-long battle that defined most of his adult life, it was not into destitution that the head of the Malfoy clan ushered his family away amidst the commotion.

* * *

 **A/N: It's a slow start, but hella necessary. The next chapter or two will be setting the scene. I do hope everyone's found it promising! ^_^**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: It's a slow start, but hella necessary. The next chapter or two will be setting the scene. I do hope everyone's found it promising! ^_^**

* * *

Malfoys will always be Malfoys.

* * *

St Just in Penwith was a coastal town in Cornwall. 505 kilometres away from London, with a population under 10 000. Such a forgotten place was perfect to be lost in. Perfect to avoid detection.

Narcissa Malfoy descended the stairs as lightly as she could, for the dust had been known to rise with zeal. It would have been easier had she leaned on the balustrade or the wall beside her, but there were cobwebs; dirty filthy cobwebs everywhere. It was rather reasonable, given the house had never been entered upon its purchase. What was slightly less acceptable is that it had been a month since the Malfoys had slunk through the front door and the state of the house had not changed. Rather, the interior had become something deplorable.

The former mistress of Malfoy Manor strode into her new kitchen, mincing through the wrappers and empty tins that rolled about her feet. Good Heavens, the stench...but who was to clean it up? Narcissa had never, in her thirty odd years of life, disposed of garbage. Neither had her husband and certainly not dear Draco. So, the piles stayed until they wouldn't. Narcissa would never tell anyone, but at night she left the window open and prayed for brownies, woodland critters, _anything_.

She opened a cupboard door. There weren't many tins left – barely enough for the week. _Which means_ , she thought with a shot of panic, _that we'll have to go...out_ _there_.

She physically shook the thought away. Whatever the case tomorrow, there were enough emergency rations for today. If she mixed the beans in with the corned beef, no one should be able to tell both went off two years ago. She arranged three plates with intention.

Her husband and son were already in the living area, though it was only through habit that she knew where they'd be. The curtains, closed for seventeen years, had yet been opened. It smelt of defeat and the Firewhiskey dear Lucius imbibed like air. Neither talked, barely registering the cold food put in front them. Narcissa found herself a dusty, sunken armchair and put her fork to her plate.

She'd been wrong. One could _not_ hide the taste of expired beans in expired corned beef.

There are things worse than death. Worse than public humiliation. Close to Azakaban. And it was this: this silent defeat. This dehumanising survival.

 _I can't do this anymore._

What was the point of fleeing Hogwarts to die unknown in an insignificant speck of a Muggle town? Would she ever see her friends again? Would she ever be able to wear the last of her evening robes and sumptuous jewels, shoved into her luggage with whatever she had managed to escape with?

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered.

Would Lucius drink himself senile before the year was out? And Draco – what would become of him? Her only son...

"I _won't_ do this anymore!" she announced boldly.

"'s shumthin' wrong, Narshi?" Lucius slurred.

She set her plate to the floor before striding across the room to the windows and forcing them open. The sight blew her mind away.

Before her stood a quaint and thoroughly neglected garden. Just over it was a view of the St Just in Penwith shoreline, bluer than any jewel she'd ever received, a light yellow like crushed gold.

And they'd been sitting on top of this the entire time...

The gasps, oaths and hisses behind her brought her back to the dingey, smelly room. She wheeled around, looking at both her dishevelled husband and her sulking son who were still not accustomed to the light.

"I've had enough now, boys. I simply cannot bear to live like this and I am sure, darling, that when you first crafted this plan, you did not plan for _this_ ," she made sure to gesture everywhere, paying special attention to the bottle in her husband's hand.

"What does it matter, Mother?" Draco said bitterly, " _Potter_ and his friends saved the day. After all the things we did, who will care if we just..." he trailed off, staring into the distance.

"And what do you intend to do? Agonise on that recliner until your bottom falls out?" she'd seemed to have gotten his attention through her crass diction, "Life is for the _living_ , Draco. This is not how a Malfoy should behave – "

" _Malfoy!?_ " Lucius piped up, almost hysterically, "We're up to our...garterssss in dishgrash and y-y you're still worried about being a _Malfoy!?_ "

"We _are_ Malfoys, darling. That hasn't changed and it never will."

"Wish it did," Draco mumbled. Narcissa chose to ignore that.

"It'shall gone, Narshi. Our power. Our reputashun. Gone. We're living with _Mugglesh,_ firchrissake! We're nuthin, Narshi. Nuthin." his voice raw and broken, Lucius put his head in his hands. Draco's face was a clean slate of disinterest, but Narcissa could see his knuckles going white and the way he bit is bottom lip in frustration and grief.

Narcissa drew herself up to her complete height and raised her head. In her mind, she was back in Malfoy Manor in all her best as she addressed them, "Is a Malfoy defined by a purse of coin? By the fleeting opinions of a menagerie of Mudbloods, Muggles and blood traitors? Come now, Lucius.

"Malfoys are Malfoys not because we have power, but because we _are_ power. We adapt and _thrive_ and _conquer_. A Malfoy is a Malfoy when there is rain and sunshine; when there is laughter and tears. In good times, a Malfoy is grand. In bad times, he is _even better_.

"A pureblood, proud, fearless Malfoy would not place the fate of his life in a bottle of alcohol. Nor would he sulk about being blessed with such immaculate heritage. No! A true Malfoy would see this as a new venture – for who can proudly claim to be king of Muggles, holding power over them in a way the Dark Lord never could?

"What defines a Malfoy is not his inability to fall. It is what he does to rise again. You'd do best to remember that, gentlemen."

Spirited by her own words, she turned her gaze to her family. Both men were looking at her, slack-jawed – but there was something in their eyes. Yes, she'd gotten through to them. It would have been fine even if she'd only gotten through to Lucius – dear Draco would have followed soon enough.

Lucius sheepishly fiddled with the bottle in his hands, "...d'I hafta?"

"One more glass should be sufficient for a while."

"Yes, dear."

"Draco, you'll help me put this house to a better state, won't you?"

The blond boy spluttered, flaring pink, "B-but, Mother...!"

"Do you see any house-elves, dear?"

"...No."

"Then who will clean?"

"...but...I don't know how!" the last part was said almost gleefully, as if he had just found his way out.

"Neither do I, my darling. But there are always ways to learn," Narcissa almost laughed at the crestfallen and downright bratty look her son pulled. It was more emotion than she'd seen from him in years.

Only when both men had shuffled and slumped away did Narcissa dare open the door to the garden. The sea wind hit her face before the sound of the waves. For the first time in a month, she allowed herself out.

* * *

The first weeks after were hell. Narcissa had to scrounge and sort through some of Draco's old spellbooks for spells that would make cleaning easier. Draco, losing patience, surprised everyone by shoving some rags into a bucket of warm, soapy water and wiping windows. _What? I used to mess with the house-elves when I'd get bored. Sometimes I'd just watch them._ _I've...always thought this would be a riot to try out._

Soon enough, the Malfoy martiarch and her son knew enough cleaning and cooking charms to rival Molly Weasley. And that was when they chose to use magic – through their bumbling, the pair learned that food tasted better, floors shone brighter and spirits soared higher when they did things the Muggle way.

Narcissa got her husband shaved, trimmed and dressed, then sent him out to get some decent food. The first time, he came back three hours later with dirt up to his knees. The second time, he came back an hour later, prattling about the peculiarities of the Muggles in town. The third time, he took half the day, but came back with a guest for dinner. Mr Burkensoot, a principal at the local school. A few servings of adequate cottage pie and a tot of (Muggle) whiskey later, and the poor man had employed Lucius to teach English and Accounting before he'd even known what had happened. _There are two languages that both Muggles and Wizards understand, my dear boy: money, and good literature. Was the poor sod under Imperius? Why, my darling...he may have just been._

The family spent a weekend tinkering with the interior of their new home – the faded paisley was losing its novelty. By Sunday sundowners, the entire cottage had been layered in green and silver, silk, sterling silver finishes and polished mahogany. Old trinklets had been transfigured into windchimes and fairy lights. The Malfoys celebrated by listening to Muggle symphonies, sipping cooking sherry.

Narcissa's one-woman mission to restore the garden was a success. She treated each bud, each layer of dirt as preciously as she did when Draco was in swaddling clothes. The ladies at the local gardening club pondered how she managed to produce such fat tulips. Greater still, was how she – 'A _lmost magically!' they'd exclaim_ – kept her milky-white complexion despite all the hours spent in the sun.

But the greatest change was with Draco. Seclusion seemed to have matured him. When he wasn't gliding across the coastline, allowing his fine, platinum hair to blow about him, he was at the kennels working with problem animals. He'd taken a particularly troublesome laborador home to tame and she just never left. One of the pups she ended up birthing had scraggy red hair and the bluest of eyes that reached into Draco's heart. From that day forward, Weasely (for that it what he was named) followed Draco everywhere.

And so, life continued to be just as charmed for the three of them. Narcissa had been right – Malfoys were Malfoys no matter where they were.

* * *

 **A/N: This scene, more than anything, is inspired from the 90s movie** ** _The Addams Family_** **.** **Things will heat up – no worries!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Swear to God I will finish up the scene-building! Pieces of the puzzle have to fit in for the plot to make anything akin to sense – hence, all this background work. Rest assured, there will be love and Dron and tastiness and fluff! A million thanks to all those who are still with me!**

* * *

Pansy dispatches her regular gossip

* * *

 _Draco darling,_

 _Since you have willingly and of your own accord decided to run into the moors and live a life of barbarism, and since you have – once again! – declined to return to civilised society, I am left with no choice but to owl you the happenings of our dearest school chums._

 _Gregory is good – says Ukraine's really nice and no, he did not get your letters. Are you sure you're sending them to the right place? Vincent's still bustling on the Continent, hobnobbing with the Wizarding community in New Orleans. Says he'll be back soon. Mind you, he said that last year. And the year before that, too._

 _Milli and Lovegood have finally moved in together. You cannot imagine how many girls' nights were ruined over the big-boned bint crying over whether or not Looney was going to commit. I considered visiting them, but then thought better of it and owled my housewarming present instead. An enchanted turkey baster is a funny present, no? Milli didn't think so. The boils on my face have only just subsided._

 _Blaise...well, he'll have to tell you that himself. I don't fancy getting jinxed on his behalf._

 _Potter is still with the Weaslette, shock and horror. Little Potter is still alive, kicking and a testament that the two of them have indeed had sex. Personally, I don't see the point in having children if the pair of them spend most of their time romping about in their outdated Auror robes. You'd think Aurors would have been made obsolete after all these years, what with all that war business behind us, but apparently not. Figures. You know, I reckon they kept the position just to give Potter some purpose in life. Boy-Who-Lived doesn't exactly pack the same punch as it did when the Dark Lord was alive, now does it?_

 _Speaking of Weasleys – the twins are still a minus-one act; the fit one with the earring still manages to take my breath away, even with the scars and the stocky one is still off in the general area of Scandinavia playing with fire (oh, aren't I witty!). Percy's still as annoying a boss as ever, prancing about the Ministry and throwing his weight about as if 20-something kilograms is all that formidable. Weasley – you know, the one in our year – is still divorced. Chudley Cannons are a favourite to win the Quidditch World Cup, and I reckon it has something to do with him. You should see him now, Draco-darling – he certainly aged well! Especially considering he still has those two terrible brats about._

 _Aaaand – drumroll please – last but not least, moi. Oh, I can't bear telling you like this, I_ _must_ _see your expression! I've made up my mind – I'll be visiting this Sunday. Until then, my lips are sealed!_

 _Kisses,_

 _Pansy xx_

* * *

Pansy Parkinson stepped out of the fireplace of a snug cottage in St Just in Penwith one overcast Sunday morning. She dusted some soot off the robes her beau had recently gifted her. Bless the sod, he was so eager to please, and so pleased when he'd done so.

Flipping her hair back, she surveyed her surroundings. The house was surprisingly tasteful. Warm armchairs of emerald velvet, a polished mahogany floorboard and walls of green with enchanted silver threads, spread out like thin tree branches. They seemed to move with the wind outside.

But, the most surprising sight, was her childhood friend Draco Malfoy.

She'd been expecting him to look withered and filthy and old and either morbidly fat from comfort eating, or extremely thin from grief starvation. She did not expect to find him taller, leaner, calmer and earth-shatteringly more handsome than she ever recalled him being.

He rose from the couch languidly, silken threads of hair slipping over his shoulders and falling to his waist as he stood. He gave a lopsided smile, "Dearest Pansy."

"Draco, darling!" she strode to him and kissed the air on either side of his face, "Goodness, how long has it been?"

"7 years, if I recall," he wrapped his arms around her for a brief hug. Not brief enough for her not to feel the flex in his muscles, though.

They stood back to survey each other. "Zounds, Draco. You look gorgeous!"

"And you look...healthy!"

Pansy was torn between slapping and hugging her best friend, "As snarky as ever, I see."

"The best things in life never do change, darling. Tea? Or champagne?" he graciously herded her outside and my! - what an opulent little garden. Draco had not been lying when he said Aunt Narcissa had taken a shine to gardening.

"I'm afraid just the tea, dear. Shouldn't drink and Floo, you know," she wriggled into a garden chair and gave a gaze over the low stone wall, "Is that where you walk them? The...you know..."

"The dogs? They quite like the beach. If you look closely...yes, there's Mother and Father. The big red brute is Weasley," he handed her an ornate teacup, sitting down and giving her a once-over, "I'd dispatch the benefits of the ocean air, but I don't think you need it. Anyone I know?"

Pansy gave a start, mouth full of tea, "Pardon?"

"I haven't gone blind, my dear. And even if I had, that engagement ring could be seen from the moon. It's very... _you_..."

Pansy gave a dignified little cough before placing her teacup down. She'd chosen the ring because it was _quite_ visible, but now its size had quite ruined the surprise. Although she was sure it wasn't _completely_ ruined.

"Oh, it's an old school friend. You mightn't remember..."

A lopsided smirk, "No one in our group? Gods, you didn't pair off with _Zabini_ , did you?"

"Merlin, NEVER," she dramatically gagged, reaching for her tea.

"Then _who?"_ Draco mirrored Pansy.

"Guess," _sip._

"Is it a Slytherin?"

"Nope," sip.

"Ravenclaw?"

"'fraid not," _sip._

"Hufflepuff?"

"Not on your life," _sip._

"Oh Gods..."

"Mhm," _sip._

"I guess, it can't be all that bad. I mean...I'm sure you chose someone noteworthy –"

"...Neville Longbottom."

 _Sip._

 _Sip._

 _Sip._

Draco stared, open-mouthed and undignified, as his best friend nonchalantly sipped away at her Earl Grey. Pansy shielded her smile with her teacup. The trip was not a _complete_ loss, then.

"Close your mouth, Draco, you look a fright."

"Give me a minute – I think I'm about to wake up from the nightmare I'm having where you're _marrying Neville Longbottom_."

"He's considerate, pliable and _very_ willing. And he does this thing with his tongue and lemon juice – "

"Merlin, drown me in a cauldron," Draco's forehead hit the tea tray in a feeble attempt to block out the imagery, "Darling, you can't seriously be considering this. You'd be a Longbottom. A _Longbottom._ "

The witch felt herself bristle then. Much of a seemingly weak man her fiancé was, she'd chosen him. And he made her happy.

"Some of us don't want to run away to Lord-Knows-Where and play Doghouse. Strange though it may seem, many of us want to move on with our lives."

Draco winced a bit at the words and Pansy's expression softened. For a while, they sat in wounded silence, the only sounds being the waves of the ocean and the clink of their teacups. It was as if they were in school again – one would say something to hurt the other, the other would say something even worse, and they would sit in silence until the pain of their words wore off. No apologies. Just quiet.

"How did you two start...y'know?" Draco began uncertainly, waving the last of the quiet away with his hands.

Pansy smiled a bit. The best things in life never did change, "You remember what I've been writing about Milli and Lovegood? Well, I was Milli's support and he was Looney's support and honestly the whole situation was so insipid we frequently met up to compare notes and just complain. And Gryffinwhoring was just then becoming a thing so I tried my luck and _tada!_ A few years, a few gifts and here we are."

"The Gryffin- _what?"_

"See, this is why one lives in civilisation," Pansy rolled her eyes and smacked her lips together, "It's no secret that we Slytherins ended up on the wrong side of _everyone_ after the war and, well, that makes it hard to do just about anything – no workplace wants a Death Eater, and we're all guilty by association. Then one little Slytherin falls in love with one little Gryffindor, and by association _to_ that Gryffindor said Slytherin regains good favour and all the benefits thereof. People noticed, and then started spreading thighs like sex was going out of style. And thus, Gryffinwhoring was born."

 _Oh, you beautiful bastards._ Draco gave a small chuckle, refilling their drinks, "And is it effective?"

"Milli fell for her little Looney by chance, but I won't say it wasn't beneficial. I wouldn't have my job with the Ministry if Looney hadn't pulled some strings via Potter. And no one at Hogwarts would ever have _dreamed_ of making Blaise Potions master if Neville hadn't had words with Professor McGonagall..."

" _Blaise works at Hogwarts!?_ "

"Ah – I've said too much. He'll have to tell you."

" _Is that why he hasn't written me in years!?"_

"Not the only reason," she mumbled into her teacup.

"I don't believe it," Draco sighed, reclining even further into his seat, shaking his head in astonishment, "Pansy?"

"Yes, darling?"

He turned his eyes to his best friend and the very gaudy ring assaulting her finger.

"Is he...is he good to you?"

In a moment quite unlike Pansy, she beamed. It was all softness and light and Neville Longbottom's influence.

"He's good to me and good _for_ me."

Draco sighed. She could see him trying to override his original feelings for Neville. It looked like it hurt.

"...is the wedding ring as... _loud?_ I cannot in good conscience attend the ceremony if it is."

* * *

When his parents returned from walking Weasley, Draco showed Pansy how he set the table without magic and they all spent the evening talking about weddings. The Malfoys stayed in front of the fireplace long after she'd Floo'ed home.

"Longbottom's a people-pleaser. The match was well made," Lucius Malfoy tried a hand at diplomacy, before chuckling off to his study.

"Whatever made her choose him?" Narcissa wondered aloud.

"Gyrffinwhoring," Draco sank into an armchair, enthusiastically showering Weasley with affection, "Using the good Gryffindor name to assure her own standing."

"Consistent exposure over a period of time, coupled with bonding over a mutual topic would be just the right cocktail to engender feelings – on Longbottom's end at the very least," Narcissa lowered herself onto an adjacent armchair, "Smart girl."

She watched her son tousle the hair of his beloved companion with an odd expression.

"Would that be something you'd consider, Draco? Gryffinwhoring."

"I have a fine enough life here," he drawled, never taking his eyes off Weasley, "Besides, it would take someone utterly _spectacular_ to sway me."

* * *

 **A/N: I promise, I'm two chapters done with all of this, but I did say it would be a slow burn! I promise to write about Ron next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **I spend a lot of time writing about the Malfoys because I love them and I am a Slytherin and the fic will be largely from Draco's perspective. Buuuuut, Imma be fair and give Ron a chance here! Also, I'll try and make this the last chapter where nothing happens.**

* * *

Ron Weasley loses another nanny. Blaise promotes Gryffinwhoring. Narcissa and Lucius discuss Draco's future.

* * *

"Mona, _please!_ "

The young witch stopped at the front door, fatigue lining her soft features. She'd first walked through that door all made-up and fragrant and bursting with femininity. She was leaving it sluggish and frumpy but by the Gods she was _leaving_.

"'M terribly sorry, Mr. Weasley, but I can'nie live like this anymore! There's spiders in me oatmeal, paint in me laundry," she lowered her voice consiprationally, "They put toads in me Unmentionables!"

"I get that they can be right little buggers but – give us another chance, yeah?"

She balked at the large, warm hand at her wrist and gave in to the vibrant blue eyes desperately boring into her.

When the agency assigned her to Ronald Weasley as a live-in nanny, she'd thanked her lucky stars. Tall, rugged Ron Weasley with his broad shoulders and hard muscles and sharp features. The hearthrob Keeper of the Chudley Canons. She'd been to all the games, she'd followed his surprisingly amicable divorce. The nude Canons-For-Charity calendar on her wall at home was always stuck on March, Ron Weasley's red hair and bright eyes hovering over her bed.

Mona knew she was cute and soft and bouncy where Hermione Granger was all sharp, sassy lines. But maybe cute and soft and bouncy was what Ronald Weasley wanted. She'd come in, win the heart of his lively children and – by extension – the heart of the man himself. One late night, he'd cradle the back of her head and ask her to sleep in his room, just like in her novels. The children would call her "Mama". They'd fight over something stupid and he'd hurriedly rush over to her house. She'd have tamed the savage children and earned her way into their family.

What she hadn't planned for was learning _why_ the Weasley-Granger children were blacklisted across every child-minding agency in Wizarding London.

As she looked into Ron Weasley's eyes, she felt herself willingly drop her bag. Maybe she could try again...

As the embroidered duffel touched the ground, it exploded, sending clothes and undergarments all about the entryway in a cloud of glittery colour. A Weasley's Wizarding Weezes wrapper floated before her feet.

"...Goodbye, Mr. Weasley."

* * *

"You work. At Hogwarts."

The handsome head in the fireplace canted to the side, "I'd have told you eventually, Draco."

"Oh really? When?"

"When I was sure you wouldn't hex me to high Heaven."

"So you would never have told me."

Zabini gave a smooth chuckle, "And derive Pansy of her big reveal? Perish the thought. I take it you know about Longbottom?"

"I'm still in shock. How long did you know?"

"Long enough – chap got me my job, you know. Doesn't make it any less surreal. Nor does it make the ring any less garish."

Draco let a small laugh escape, "It's very Pansy," he sighed, "Poor Longbottom."

"The man's doing cartwheels on the moon, he's so happy. Which reminds me: why don't you try your hand at it? Snatching up a Gryffindor of your very own?"

"Have you?" Draco shot back.

Zabini's lips crept into a small, suggestive smile, "It's _very_ beneficial. And from what I can see, you've turned into quite the bombshell. It would be good to have you back here."

"'Here' being London? Or Hogwarts? Or some other island you haven't told me about?"

" _Touch_ _é_ , Malfoy. I'll keep my ear to the ground and promise me you'll consider it. I won't take no for an answer."

"Would you look at that my soufflé has finished," was the deadpan reply before Draco ended the call.

Really, he was just fine here. Why throw that all away?

* * *

Lucius slid into the bedsheets, opening his arm for his wife to slide into as they reached for their books. The change of lifestyle had rekindled the fires of their relationship – but today had been a long day, and neither of them were willing to end it with any sort of exertion.

"I'm worried about Draco," Narcissa sighed, turning the page of her novel.

"Why? Did something happen?" Lucius' eyes never left the page, but his brows furrowed.

"That's just it, nothing _has_. Our poor boy stays here like a fading star while his friends _live."_

"The boy could leave if he wanted to," Lucius turned the page.

"And go where? Do what? We're the most unpopular family in the Wizarding World. But staying here, forgotten? That's no life to live."

Lucius set his book on the bedside table before turning to view his wife. She looked every bit as beautiful as the day he married her.

"Narci, do you want to go back?" that was his old life – but for her, he would.

"Oh darling, no," she lowered her novel, "I want to spend the rest of my life here, with you. I just...want our son to be young and stupid and beautiful, like we were. He deserves a chance in the world, moreso than we ever did."

"You're right, my dove," Lucius placed a soft kiss into her hairline, "But we can't make him leave if he doesn't want to. We can only hope for something to come up."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **A/N: Thank you so much to the people who have been reading and following this work! You gave me the inspiration to continue!**

 **I'll be posting every Friday if I can. If not, expect the update the following Monday.**

 **I'll also be getting back into "Dear Karma: Fuck You", so if you liked that series, stay tuned!**

 **Also, Blaise speaks a touch of Italian in this chapter. If Google Translate gave me the wrong translation, feel free to correct me!  
**

 **On to the fic!**

* * *

Blaise follows through on his promise. Ron not impressed. The world plots against Draco.

* * *

"You've lost another one? That makes it – what, three? Four?"

"Six," Professor Hermione Granger, Transfigurations teacher and Head of Gryffindor house, sighed as she dished eggs onto her plate. "In twice as many months."

"Hmm," Professor Blaise Zabini, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, made a contemplative sound into his imported orange juice (he never liked the pumpkin sludge the school served). "The agency has already blacklisted the little ones, yes?"

"If Mona hasn't reported already, she will soon enough," she sighed again, reaching for the toast, "I had hoped she'd make it to the summer. Perhaps Rose and Hugo really _are_ a problem."

"Perhaps," Blaise reached for a blueberry muffin, plopping one onto his colleague's plate, "Or perhaps the buxom nanny wasn't getting looked after, if you catch my drift."

"Professor Zabini!"

"Weasley's a damn good catch. So you've proven. Twice."

"And look what good it's gotten me," she snapped. Realising what she'd said, she sighed, lowering her eggs and toast, "I don't mean that. I just...I'm all the way over here and Ron's only _just_ learnt how to take care of himself and we're both so busy..."

"Mm," something similar to guilt dropped into Blaise's stomach. He'd spent the last week thinking of how to get Malfoy out from that rock he'd crawled under, not really giving much thought to Granger and her predicament. He simply couldn't be expected to divide his attention between the two of them.

Unless...

"Professor Granger, I have a proposition for you. You may not like it, but it could provide solution for the time being."

"At this point, I'll listen to any bad idea."

"Indeed. How about we discuss it later tonight?" she jumped slightly at the hand that appeared on her thigh.

"I'm in charge of the prefects tonight," she replied coolly, but made no attempt to swat the hand away.

"I'm quite the night owl," his hand inched higher.

It was brief, but the look Hermione threw Blaise's way was nothing short of devious.

"So I've heard."

* * *

"Mummy!" Rose Weasley-Granger rushed to the loud sound in the living room. She didn't know what the sound was, but it usually meant Mummy had come visit. She stopped near the doorway, grabbing her baby brother's hand and proceeding with less speed.

"Hello, poppets!" Mummy scooped down and wrapped them both in her long arms, "How are my two favourite people?"

Rose furrowed into her Mummy's shoulder and took a huge whiff. Mummy smelled like lavender and ink, making Rose burrow even further. Daddy was great, but she saw him every day. And she had Father. But she only had one Mummy. Mummy was _special_.

"H'lo, Mummy," Hugo cheerfully piped up from somewhere in her hair. Rose knew he was trying to place kisses on Mummy's cheek.

"Any luck?" Mummy said over their heads. Daddy ran his fingers through his hair. Rose felt bad because he looked really tired. Was it because they made Mona go away? She smelled funny and never really tried to be friendly. Not really. She just wanted to take Daddy away. They all did.

Daddy's laugh sounded angry, "With what agency?"

"I'm sorry, Ron. I wish I could do more."

"Me too. No offense, 'Mione, but why are you here? I'm a bit busy."

"I..." Mummy paused and let them go, "Why don't you go outside and play, poppets? I need to talk to Daddy a bit."

* * *

"Is Mummy mad about the nanny?" Hugo asked in that quiet way of his, chubby fingers poking at the frogs hopping about the small garden.

" _LIKE BLOODY HELL I'M LETTING MALFOY NEAR MY KIDS!_ " came Daddy's voice from the living room.

"I think Daddy's even madder."

* * *

Zabini's visit was a pleasant surprise, even if he did raise an eyebrow when Draco introduced him to Weasley.

"There's a story there I don't think I want to know..."

"Well, you can hop right back into that fireplace and take it up with someone who cares," Draco replied snottily.

" _Pax_ , Draco. _Pax_. The dog's a darling. It's just a very... _unique..._ name, is all..."

Draco should have known around the time Narcissa produced the roast she'd been conveniently cooking since morning. He should have taken note at how his father's nose wrinkled in distaste when Zabini greeted him, or how his mother planted a placating kiss on Lucius' temple as he poured the red wine.

But of course, he did not. This was just a social visit. Blaise Zabini was a friend, no?

No. He was a dirty, filthy, impressively conniving Slytherin.

"So Draco," Zabini drawled, cutting the meat on his plate, "I'd promised to keep my ear on the ground, and an interesting development has presented itself. Lucrative stuff, but I thought you should know first."

Draco stilled, fork midway to his mouth, to eye his old friend, "Get to the point, Zabini."

"Ahem, well," Zabini crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap, "You remember Weasley? The one in our year, I mean."

"Horrid red hair, garish blue eyes, all limbs and freckles?"

"The very one," Zabini made a point of staring at the other Weasley, who was sitting dutifully next to his master.

"Point. Now."

"Well, I'm a colleague of his dear ex-wife and she has intimated that they may be in the market for a child minder."

"…"

"And since you're in the market for some good PR…"

"You're not saying what I think you're saying. _For your sake_ , you're not saying what I think you're saying."

"They're two-thirds of the Dream Team. Gryffindor's are a stupid, forgiving kind if you're helpful. With their support, the smudge on your reputa-"

"- I'm not sure if you noticed, Blaise, but I _hated_ Potter and his groupies at school. I still do. I _hate_ them and that makes me happy. I would rather spend a week under the Cruciatus Curse then lower myself to Weasley's _wetnurse_ ," Draco sneered, his lips twisting unpleasantly.

"Come now Draco, use your smart bits. If you won't do it for your own good, do it for an old friend, yes?"

"For the love of Salazar, how does this help yo-" Draco's voice went threateningly low, "You're whoring with Granger, aren't you."

Blaise said nothing, allowing his patient sips of red wine to answer for him. Narcissa watched the exchange nervously, food untouched. Lucius' face was a canvas of polite disdain, his movements punctuated.

"I...I think it is a worthwhile endeavour," Narcissa eventually spoke, as evenly as she could. "Having the endorsement of both Hermione Granger and Ronald B. Weasley would do wonders for your future pursuits. You _must_ think of the benefits, Draco."

Draco gaped in response. He had half-expected his parents had not cursed Zabini on the basis of their long-standing friendship with his family, as well as Draco's long-standing friendship with the man himself. At the very least, they should have kicked him out for even _suggesting_ Draco degrade himself in such a way. But it seemed his mother had undergone temporary insanity. He stared imploringly at his father, expecting a wand ready and pointed at his schoolmate. Instead, Lucius gave a look that was a strange mixture of disgust and sympathy.

"For your own good, son."

And then it clicked. This was no surprise visit. They'd spoken, the three of them. Conspired against him. Plotted his demise.

 _For his own good._

"Everyone's lost their minds," Draco murmured into his plate, astonished. Perhaps, now was the time for anger. Perhaps he should murder them all. However, he was too shocked at how they had ushered him into a trap. He pushed the plate away, appetite lost. He barely registered that he'd gotten up and left the dining room until he heard Zabini's voice growing distant:

" _C_ _almati, amico mio._ You'd be doing me a favour, and it's only until the summer. I'll write down the address – be there at 9 tomorrow!"

* * *

When he had tired of enchanting the night sky onto his ceiling, Draco set his wand aside and stared into the darkness.

He was humiliated. By his own family. By his own _friend_.

He was content here: far enough from it all. He enjoyed walking around freely, no catcalls of "Deatheater!" or "Pureblood bastard!" or what ever the puritan masses were likely to say. He enjoyed being adored by his father's students as he visited the school, or sat in cafes, or walked along the shore. He enjoyed not looking into the faces of those who lost loved ones, knowing they rightfully wished him dead. He enjoyed the dogs in the shelter; how they came savage and broken and hungry for love, and how he made them better.

And he enjoyed Weasely, who – noting his master's distress – had taken it upon himself to sleep beside his sad human. Normally, Draco would have forbidden the ginger brute from his bed, but he needed the company of someone not out to destroy the sense of peace he'd finally achieved.

Burying his face into the animal's fur, he let out a shuddered sigh. He was not going to cry. He was _not_. He was just going to expel some of the water he'd retained by forgoing his nighttime ablutions. And it would do him no good to appear before his arch nemesis with red eyes and a puffy face.

Oh, he was certainly going to do it. Not _for his own good_ , but for them. To make them happy. And that was the worst part.

"...Granger better taste like _chocolate fucking frogs_ , Zabini."

* * *

 **Calmati, amico mio - Calm down, my friend.**

 **A/N: I must admit, I wrote the last few paragraphs a tad drunk and starving. Also, I'd just finished posting an emotional scene on an online RPG site, hence the residual angst.**

 **Quick question: This has a happy ending (and that won't change), but how many of you are alright with a touch of angst? Draco re-entereing Wizarding society may have a bit of angst alongside it, if you wish. Let me know!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **A/N: I am foul and behind schedule and love me anyway, okay? Had a bellydance performance to prepare for, plus I locked myself out of my apartment this entire weekend. The next two chapters are the same situation from different perspectives. Tomorrow's a day off, so expect an extra update!**

 **Also, shoutout to the first favourite of this story, Westyversionfrench! Every form of support and encouragement gets my ass up in the morning!**

* * *

Ron is bitter about the whole arrangement. Malfoy, it would seem, feels the same.

* * *

The beginning of spring still brought a chill to the air, but the streets of both Muggle London and Wizarding London sparkled as a weak sun lit the morning wet. It was still early, but the morning glow greeted commuters, working parents, bakery owners and station managers alike. It climbed over buildings, and crept into windows, promising pleasant warmth in the near future.

It was this same morning sun that slipped into the living room of the Weasley-Granger's south London townhouse. However, it did little to lift the cloud hanging about Ron Weasley's head. He had been crumpled in the same spot on the couch since the crack of dawn, scowling over a yellowed tome. To be fair, though, he'd been scowling since yesterday.

It was all that git Zabini's fault. Probably had Hermione drugged on love potions or some rot. There was no way in her right mind that she was actually on board with this. Wouldn't put it past the slimy bastard to have his ex-wife on an Unforgiveable. But she hadn't the glassy, dead gaze of someone under the influence. Just looked all… _loved up_ and such. Definitely potions.

"For God's sake, Ronald, be an adult about this!" Ron mimicked in a singsong as he put up yet another layer of wards with the flick of his wand. He was an adult, yeah, but there was only so much so-called 'maturity' he had on hand for ferrety prats. Malfoy was evil. Period. And because Hermione couldn't get her fill of Slytherin cock (a phrase he never thought he'd ever think), that very Malfoy would be here. In his house. Where his children slept. And he wouldn't be allowed to strangle him.

 _Yet_ , thought the dark part of his brain. Malfoy _breathing_ was reason enough. He stretched his stiff limbs and ventured outside. The barriers he had just set, shimmered. Magic would be impossible while the wards stood, but if Malfoy was as fluffy and scrawny as he had been at Hogwarts, Ron didn't need a wand to fight him.

"Daddy?" little Hugo's voice inched from upstairs as he used the rail to descend. His owl pyjamas pooled around his bare feet, threatening to send him tumbling. Ron bounded up the stairs, swooping his son in his arms with an "up we go" and carrying him to the living room.

"Morning, Noodle. How's your sister?"

"Brushing her teeth," the little boy settled himself into the couch with crossed legs, "Are we getting a new nanny?"

Ron winced, rubbing the back of his head, "Uh...yes, but also no."

Hugo gazed at his father, a little guilty, "'m sorry, Daddy. I won't bite them anymore, I promise."

Pause. "No, you can bite this one, little Noodle."

Hugo's doe eyes blew wide in surprise. He furrowed his bushy brows and bit his bottom lip in deep thought. This was uncharted territory. "Only if he's not nice," the little one conceded with a firm nod.

Ron gave a chuckle, tussling his son's bedhair. Malfoy was never nice.

* * *

The blond ferret of a Slytherin arrived at 9 o'clock on the dot, much to Ron's dismay. If Malfoy had been just a fraction of a second late, Ron could have turned him away under the guise of professionalism. But _no_. The git had to ring the doorbell on time. Shuffling away from his breakfast, Ron loudly grumped his way to the front door.

"Daddy, no! We're still in our pyjamas!" Hugo exclaimed, scandalised. Pyjamas were for family, not company. Mummy had told him so.

"This won't take a minute, Noodle. No worries."

"That means he doesn't like him," Rose stage-whispered to her brother. Daddy made them wear their best clothes for the other nannies, so they could look better. If Daddy didn't care, then neither did Rose.

Malfoy's trademark hair was all types of conspicuous in the morning light, and Ron was surprised to see that the pale grey eyes were almost level to his. Malfoy had grown, toned and tall and almost as tan as he was. Ron was disappointed, until he took note of the pronounced sneer. Made him look like the ferret Ron remembered hating. Good.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley," Malfoy drawled coolly. The pair all but glared at each other on either side of the door. The blond outside tipped his chin lightly, "Are going to let me in?"

Ron drew up to his full height, draping his arms across his chest and widening his stance. His body filled the door, because fuck Malfoy. He wasn't coming in if that was the last thing Ron did.

Mafloy saw the gesture for what it was. His face twisted into another sneer, "I was unaware this was an outdoor interview, Weasley."

"It's not."

"Then let me in."

"Not in seven holy hells."

Malfoy's expression bordered on bratty, "Well, isn't that mature. Do you want to check in with your neurotic ex-wife, or shall I?"

Ron snorted obnoxiously, "I promised Hermione I'd see you. I see you. Job done."

Slytherins were no-good, scheming sacks of horsepiss and Malfoy was king of them all. He'd watched one Slytherin after another slide their way back into a world that didn't want them. First, it was Luna. Then Neville. Then even Hermione with her Italian stallion. Crocodile tears and coquetry, disguised as human emotion. There was forgive and forget, and there was sheer stupidity. Ron was not stupid. Malfoy and Zabini could conspire 'til their faces turned blue, but his children were not going to be used. Malfoy didn't deserve a second chance.

"Swell. I'll be sure to mention how you had me stand outside, like the functioning adult you are."

The sharp lines of Malfoy's face had been annoying the Gryffindor from the second he opened the door, and he was an additional second away from homicide.

"Shove off, Malfoy. This is _my_ turf – _my_ house, _my_ children, _my_ rules. So you and your boyfriend Zabini can suck a griffin's cock, because you're not getting your way this time."

Malfoy huffed, "You've either forgotten our school years, or parenthood has ascended you to new heights of stupid. I'm here because _your_ failure of a marriage has my best friend feeding from the bottom of the barrel, and he's decided to share the misery."

Ron's face grew red with rage, "Say one more word Malfoy…"

"Oh, please. Lay hands on me. Go for the face. Show the world how _mature_ you are, Weasley."

The feral growl that ripped itself from the redhead's throat was drowned out by the sound of something breaking in the kitchen. Ron leaned back from Malfoy (how had he gotten so close?) and, startled by the sound, forgot about the Slytherin on his doorstep and hurried inside.

Ron's breakfast plate – and what was left of Ron's breakfast – sprawled across the tiled floor in pieces. Hugo stood near the refrigerator, eyes wide and tiny hands over his mouth. On the counter between the living room and the kitchen was Rose, reaching for the overhead cabinet with her tiptoes. Ron ran his hands through his hair and exclaimed a word that would have made Hermione slap him.

"Language, Weasley."

Ron clicked his tongue in Draco's direction, barely registering that the other man had followed him into the house. Sighing, he plucked Hugo from the floor, and placed him onto a stool outside the kitchen. "What's going on here?"

"We wanted biscuits," Rose lowered herself down, looking guilty, but not sorry.

"And what did we say about sweets in the morning?"

"They're not sweets, though."

"Rose…"

"…We're not to eat them, or Wrackspurts will make our brains go fuzzy." she bit her lip, "Sorry, Daddy."

Ron sighed, softening visibly, "I'm just happy you aren't hurt, Carrot."

Rosy cheeks lit up as the little redhead beamed at her father. Draco raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction, to which Ron replied with a murmured, "You can thank Luna for that one."

"Tell him about the owl!" Hugo stage-whispered from his stool. His eyes had been trained on the strange man with elf hair and he was feeling quite shy. Always attuned to her brother's moods, Rose conceded.

"An owl came and he dropped a letter for you, Daddy. Right there, on your book," she pointed to where the spellbook lay, still open and bearing a crisp white envelope. Ron reached for it, reading the contents in a rush before shouting yet another word unsavoury to children. Damn that slavedriver McConneley! It was meant to be Ron's day off. There had to be something in his contract against these surprise meetings forced on them through whimsy. Rose and Hugo weren't safe alone, and Mum and Dad were still on their cruise. Who was supposed to take care of the children?

"Language, Weasley."

Ron turned to snap at Malfoy, before realising where Malfoy was. "You're not allowed in here."

"My apologies. I'll just leave you to it, then," the Slytherin bowed slightly before turning to leave.

"WAIT! Er…" he balked slightly when Malfoy turned around, eyebrow raised in polite interest. "I...um...I have to go. Emergency Canons meeting," he shook the letter feebly.

Malfoy raised his other eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, "Then I best be off. Wouldn't want to keep you."

 _Of all the_...he wasn't making this easy, was he. On the other hand, how badly _did_ Ron want to leave a reformed DeathEater with his children? Carrot and Noodle would probably burn the house down by accident, yes, but Malfoy was just as likely to do the same intentionally.

Another owl flew into the living room, depositing a similar looking envelope on the table and making the decision for Ron. 5 more minutes, and he'd receive a Howler. It was the McConneley way.

"I don't have time for this. Malfoy, could you be a decent person for a few hours? I can't leave Rose and Hugo alone here."

"Those two things are related, because...?"

4 minutes, "Look, you can lord it over me all you want, but I...need your help."

Malfoy looked like he was about to gloat his way out the house, but Ron followed his eyes to the broken plate, Hugo shyly staring at the two of them and Rose crouching on the counter. Grey eyes fluttered shut, a small curse escaping his lips.

"You have 3 hours."

2 minutes, "Great, just give me the wand and I'll be off. I'll grovel when I get back, promise."

"My wand?"

"I'm not going to leave you armed with my children."

"You're not going gallivanting with my wand."

1 minute. " _Don't test me, Malfoy_."

The look on his face must have been convincing – Malfoy just narrowed his eyes and handed his wand over grudgingly. Ron was out the perimeter of the barrier and Apparating to McConnelly's office before the pot-bellied bastard could finish his Howler.

* * *

The next 4 hours were the longest of Ron Weasley's life. McConnelly had announced that the Canons only had to win the next International Quidditch League to qualify as representatives of Britain in the next year's Quidditch World Cup. An announcement that could have taken all of 15 minutes – if Ward hadn't come in late, followed by a sheepish-looking Goddard. Their swollen lips and obvious hickeys had sent McConnelly into a rant about priorities. Which took another 20 minutes. Bott made the mistake of sighing too loudly, which had them on the field, proving how dedicated they were to the team. Felton, in her usual sharp energy, hit the Quaffle too hard and got Thompson good in the nose. Jenson replaced him, which inspired McConnelly to get all the reserves practicing. The Snitch was in a particularly pesky mood, and Murphy almost tumbled to her death at least three times. At the end of it all, even McConnelly was fatigued, letting them go with the promise of a late-morning training session the next day.

Ron politely excused himself from the post-training drinks (as he usually did) and Apparated home in such a rush, he'd forgotten about the wards and unceremoniously bounced against them. His worry was relieved slightly by the fact that they were still up, and the house in general seemed to be intact. The front door was locked, and Ron felt a sense of surrealism at ringing the doorbell. He only hoped Malfoy hadn't deserted his kids – or run off them.

The man in question opened the door a few minutes later, rich aromas wafting behind him and attacking Ron's stomach with ferocity.

"You didn't cook my children, did you?"

"…Welcome home," Malfoy's lip twitched in what seemed to be amusement, "That would be your afternoon tea. Prepared by young Rose and Hugo."

Ron was too tired and too desperate to see his children to argue. Shouldering his way into the home, he followed the sounds of high-pitched chatter to the living room and breathed a sigh of relief. Carrot and Noodle were safe, arguing over the placement of a puzzle piece, as they finished the border of what looked to be the Aurelea Borelis puzzle Hermione had bought when they were still married. At the sound of his entrance, their small faces snapped up in unison.

"Daddy, tell Rose it's meant to go here."

"It's not supposed to go there, it's supposed to go _here_!"

"It's the wrong colour, Rosey. Oh, and welcome home, Daddy."

"We made bread," Rose said proudly, barely hiding a smile when her eyes trailed to Malfoy, "By hand!"

"Alright, children, that's enough. If could please set the table?" Malfoy instructed in a strangely authoritarian voice. While it was unreal that Rose and Hugo were so well behaved in company, Ron couldn't see them listening to the blond man. But, of course, he must have suffered a concussion sometime at practice because Carrot and Noodle merely nodded and set off to the kitchen, where Ron could see crockery already piled within their reach.

"They listened to you," Ron murmured in disbelief.

"I believe they did," Malfoy agreed, a touch condescendingly.

"They're not in their pyjamas."

"It is 3 in the afternoon, Weasley. Only hooligans stay unwashed this late." Malfoy bent down to place the remainder of the puzzle pieces into a nearby cardboard box. Ron caught a fade pink print on the corner of the Slytherin's hand – it looked distinctly like a row of tiny teeth.

"Is that…?"

"Your parenting? Yes," Malfoy replied drily, snarling slightly at the mark. That was enough to send Ron out of his stupor as he gave a self-satisfied grin, "You must have not been nice."

Malfoy stared at him blankly, "I'm always nice. Careful how you hold that, young Hugo. Yes, place it right there, like we discussed. Well, I'd best get started on my own tea," he gave the Gryffindor a polite, curt nod, "It's been an adventure, but let's never do this again, yes?"

Malfoy was almost at the front door when Ron called out to him, the Slytherin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The redhead sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, not sure how to express his gratitude, or even sure that he wanted to. Hurriedly, he returned Malfoy's confiscated wand.

"Uh, yeah…sorry for being late. It's just McConnelly – he's our coach – and…yeah. Sorry."

Malfoy's blank expression returned as he stared a Ron for a second. "Careful, Weasley. That almost sounded kind."

* * *

"And they _listened_ to him?" Hermione swirled the wine her ex-husband poured her, crossing her legs. Zabini had offered to take some her responsibilities, giving her enough time to drop in on her family. Given how her last interaction with Ron had gone, she owed him a visit in person. She had been expecting him to have greeted her fuming, or possibly with Draco Malfoy's corpse sprawled on the front lawn. Her wine must be too strong – the house was one piece, Draco wasn't dead and Ron seemed appreciative of his visit.

"'Mione, I don't know what he did to them – but he told them to set the table and they did!" Ron swirled his Firewhiskey before taking a grand swig, "It must have been Imperius."

"Ron…"

"No, no, the wards. Must have been a potion. Bet you he spiked me too."

"Or maybe," Hermione began, torn between entertained and irritated, "He's just good with children."

Her ex-husband looked at her as if she had grown horns and a third ear. She rolled her eyes and produced a small white envelope, placing it in his large hands. Ron pulled a face.

"Do we have to send it?"

"Up to you, Ronald," Hermione replied, a bit tired, "It's not like we have an option."

"…Until the summer?"

"Until the summer."

Ron's hair fell in front of his face as he lowered his head and sighed.

* * *

 **A/N: If you're wondering how the hell Draco got Rose and Hugo to behave, stay tuned! The next chapter will reveal all (and I promise it will be on time!).**

 **Also, I have an AO3 account! Based on how you guys feel, I can continue the story on that site. Let me know!**


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